


Honest Lies

by j4bb3rw0xx0r



Category: Dagorhir, Foam fighting, LARP - Fandom, Lancerus
Genre: Gen, Nobody cares about your backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25147735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j4bb3rw0xx0r/pseuds/j4bb3rw0xx0r
Summary: A meeting between The Crone Queen and an unlikely ally.
Kudos: 3





	Honest Lies

The sun was finishing its lazy descent towards the horizon when she reached the docks.  Trinian gra-Dushnikh, Crone Queen of the Unseelie Court, walked purposefully, ignoring the curious and, occasionally, wary gazes cast at her by the mostly wood-elven locals. None of them were terribly rude, but it was clear that orc-kin were an uncommon sight in these parts. The late summer air was tinged with the first hints of autumn and the boatmen were well on their way to the taverns and food stalls that lined the hard-packed dirt road. The settlement was not large, but it was a convenient stopping point for the river barges hauling timber or furs. It was, she thought, an odd place for such a meeting. Yet the man she was here to see had information valuable to the Courts and so she had grudgingly acquiesced to a time and place of his choosing.

“Bards…” she growled around short tusks, chewing the word like a curse.  _ “Now, where is that bloody boat?” _ she thought. “The _ Prima Vista _ ”, the message had said, and she doubted a vessel with such a name would be a common barge. No, more likely, it would be… 

“Ugh. A floating fucking stage.”

Moored a dozen feet from the bank was, indeed, a wide, shallow-draft boat that had been converted into a stage, complete with a frame for curtains. A few workers were picking up benches from the shore, carrying them up a wide wooden gangplank, and stacking them neatly to one side of the deck. Others had taken down the curtain and were rolling it up. Trinian glimpsed a symbol on it- a theater mask split in two, one side golden and smiling, the other wine-colored and crying. The same symbol was painted on the prow, next to the words  _ Prima Vista _ in sharp gold letters. She grimaced and walked toward the boat.

As she approached, one of the crew looked up from her work and, banishing a fleeting look of surprise from her face, moved to intercept the half-orc.

“Ah, our guest for the evening.” the elven woman inquired courteously. Trinian raised an eyebrow quizzically, but nodded. “The Captain is expecting you. Please, follow me. Watch your step.” Gracefully, she led the way up the gangplank toward a raised cabin at the aft of the  _ Prima Vista _ . Once actually on board, the Crone Queen noticed that the vessel was significantly larger than it appeared from shore and seemed surprisingly well-made. Clearly, the self-styled “Captain” had done well for himself, or at least had wealthy patrons. She gazed impassively over the hands cleaning up from their last show while the elf knocked on the cabin door, just to the side of yet another rendition of the grinning and crying mask.

“Yes, enter,” a muffled man’s voice called from within. The elven crew member opened the door and stepped aside for Trinian to step inside, closing it gently behind her. 

Like the rest of the boat, the cabin was far more spacious than she had expected. The walls were lined with maps, art, and shelves full of trinkets, oddities, bottles, and, most of all, books. A massive writing desk covered in papers and more books took up most of one corner. The center of the room was dominated by a table large enough for a dozen to comfortably dine, bearing an assortment of food and drink- fruits, nuts, bread, cheese, clear spring water, and several varieties of wine. Seated at the table, though quickly moving to stand, was a man of medium height with a brown beard beginning to show streaks of gray. Reds and golds dominated his clothing, though he dressed less like a captain or leader of a theater troupe and more like a common sailor in brighter colors.

With a bow and a flourish, he greeted her. “Welcome to my  _ home _ , Your Majesty. I am honored to receive you as my  _ guest _ . Please, sit, eat, drink, partake of my  _ hospitality _ . I understand we have much to discuss.” He spoke with a smile and there was welcome in his voice, but he chose and emphasized his words with care and his eyes were full of both mirth and caution.

She paused, forcing herself to remain expressionless,  unwilling to show any sign he had surprised her.  _ “This isn’t right,” _ she thought. She had met humans who acted like they knew the ways of the Courts. This was different.  She sat at the chair across from him, keenly aware that her back was to the door, but unwilling to be rude...yet. "From the stories, I had expected you to be more... discourteous. You have a certain reputation,  _ Captain _ Cancer." She grinned at him, almost menacingly.  _ “He is, after all, only human,” _ she thought,  _ “though this is  _ not _ what I expected.” _ This was not the careless drunken wastrel she had heard about; this was a man who knew with whom he was dealing and would not be easily tricked.

He chuckled politely, returning to his seat only after she had taken hers. "Naturally. In my profession one cannot help but to attract all manner of rumors. However, you are my honored guest. And I am well aware of how important the rules of hospitality are in situations such as this, Your Majesty. I am a  _ fool _ , not an idiot. But please, have some food, try the wine. The elderberry is particularly good. In fact, you must take a bottle with you, I insist. It’s important that  _ custom _ be observed before business is discussed." Again, he sounded cheerful but deliberate as he filled a silver goblet and passed it to her.

To her chagrin, Trinian found herself forced to accept. He was right, she was his guest and it would be rude to refuse his hospitality, even though having the ancient customs and laws invoked by a  _ human _ galled her to the bone. Gingerly, she took a small sip from the cup. It was, as he had said, a delightfully tart vintage. She scanned the table again. All of the utensils and serving plates were silver or finely made pottery, not a piece of steel or iron among any of it.  _ “And no gold, either,” _ she thought.  _ “Stranger and stranger, this man.” _ She took a small slice of cheese and a piece of bread and ate, deliberately, staring at him.

He smiled back at her, taking a small sip from his own cup. He seemed to relax, only just perceptibly, as she ate. “You must wonder why we’ve docked here. It’s coming up on the busy season for this area. For the next two moons, everyone north is going to be trying to get either their goods or themselves, if they have the wealth, south before winter and a lot of them are going to stop here. It’s good coin and better gossip. If you want to know every merchant’s daughter or son sleeping with a barge worker, bartender, or bastard of a bard from here to the High Hills, you’ve come to the right place.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke, his voice again full of humor. “I know you’ve had a long journey. There’s a tub in the back, I can have one of the crew draw you a bath. There are extra bunks below deck if you’d rather speak in the morning, or we can set up a hammock on deck, if you prefer, though the flies are still pretty bad this time of year. Please, tell me if there is anything you require for your comfort or speed upon your further journeys, Your Majesty.”

And there it was. Food, drink, a gift, information. An offer of a bath, shelter, and safe passage. And absolutely no questions. If he had been a sorceror with staff, tome, and runes, his spell could not have been more complete. Her grin faded and she glared at him hotly.  _ “Nobody ever remembers the bath.” _ “You may address me as ‘Trinian’, if you wish,” she spoke formally through gritted teeth. “May I have the name of my host?” She allowed herself a smile. There was no way he wouldn’t immediately recognize such an obviously trapped question, but now she was curious.  _ “What are you going to say, mortal? ‘You may call me…’? How will you phrase it? Or do you think being my Host protects you? Are you as arrogant as they say, or was that a lie as well?” _

“My name is Cancer,” he said flatly.  _ “Got you! But.. no…” _ She should have been jubilant, triumphant, but something was wrong. The name… it was his Name, but it was not. She tasted it, rolling it around. It was like eating a familiar food only to discover an unexpected and foreign spice. She was still bound by the Old Laws as his Guest, she could practically feel the tendrils of tradition and custom wrapped around her, but his Name should not sound like  _ that _ , it should have afforded her some measure of power. He stood up and she found herself quite unable to move. The smile was gone from his lips and his eyes were hard, emeralds flecked with gold in an impassive stare. “And honestly,  _ Trinian _ , I am very disappointed. Have I not been an acceptable  _ host _ , that you would  _ insult _ me such?”

“How? Who? What is this,  _ mortal _ ?” Her calm had vanished, her face a mask of rage, yet she was unable to stand. At the word  _ ‘insult’ _ , spat like a curse, she felt constricted, suffocating, like a trapped animal. She forced herself to calm. This was not a battle that could be won by force. “I...apologize, my host, I meant no  _ disrespect _ ,” she choked the words out, trying to mean them while silently swearing vengeance for this humiliation. The invisible bonds loosened, no longer oppressive, but she still felt that standing would likely end in failure.

“Of course you didn’t.” He smiled again, warmly, and Trinian felt the tension in the cabin melt away. “It would be incredibly foolish for anyone to accept a host’s hospitality freely offered and then attempt to harm them. And, while I am sure you would never dream of trying something silly like using my Name against me, I had hoped that you would show a bit more respect for my intelligence than that old trick. Because, make no mistake, I am well aware of the power in a Name. Now, shall we start again? You may begin whenever you feel ready.” He returned to his seat.

_ “He is older than he looks,”  _ she thought.  _ “Far too old for a human. And his name is his Name and yet it is not. And he knows our ways.” _ Her mind raced, thinking back to the letters. Her Sister-Queens had invited him to the Court, thinking it a simple matter to learn what they wanted and be done with it, but he had declined, politely and never offering offense.  _ “This is why. He knows too much. Someone else is behind this. It’s all a trap. Why does he not act? What does he want?” _ “I...do not understand. I am in your power. Why…?”

“Why do I not inflict some terrible violence or mischief on you? That is, after all, what you’d do if our situations were reversed, or if you could use my Name against me.” His smile was sad, pained, yet kind. “This isn’t a trap. I am not in league with your enemies, numerous and powerful though they may be. I have simply taken the proper precautions to protect my person, property, and partners from the particular peculiar, pernicious, and often pugnacious proclivities of pixies, pucks, and their patrons.” He grinned wide with genuine mirth. “Besides, what a poor host I would be if I harmed you. That would quite defeat the whole point of the rules, would it not? No, I promise you,  Trinian gra-Dushnikh, called by some the Ironfoot, Crone Queen of the Unseelie Court of the Fair Folk, no harm will come to you while under my protection. I will abide by the Old Laws. Will you?”

This time, she could not keep the shock from her face. Instead, she lowered her eyes to the table, both ashamed and impressed. “Yes, I will follow the proper  _ customs _ . Thank you for your  _ hospitality _ .” She took another sip of the wine and let herself relax. It  _ was _ rather good, she supposed. And if she was stuck dealing with this most curious human, if that’s what he was, she may as well enjoy his wine. “I am curious, if I may ask a question. ‘Cancer’ is your Name, but it is also not. Will you tell me how this came to be?”

He nodded and laughed, returning to his feet to pace dramatically.. “Asking a bard for a story? And asking  _ this _ bard to talk about  _ himself _ ? How could I refuse?” He took a deep drink from his goblet, refilled it, and topped off Trinian’s for good measure. “Very well, I will tell you why my Name is not like others and then you will tell me what it is you traveled all this way to find out, for even  _ I _ am not arrogant enough to believe you came here just to listen to me tell stories about myself.” This time, she couldn’t quite suppress a smile. He was indeed a fool.

“In short, it is a Name I have made for myself, won in battle many, many years ago with an insidious fiend at the edge of the world, a battle that taught me many things that mortals should not be forced to bear the knowledge of. It is a word of fear and pain and sorrow. And yet…” He looked into his cup, remembering, his eyes far away. “...and yet, here I am. When so many others are not. A fool gifted with bitter wisdom, laughter forged in suffering, quenched in tears.” He stopped pacing, placing a hand on the back of his chair. Trinian saw again, the smiling, crying mask carved and painted there. “So I will make the Name a thing of mockery. I will take its power away, if only for the span of a story or a song. That is why it gives you no power over me. It is a weapon, yes, but not one that can be turned against me by another.” He sat back down and returned his attention to his guest. 

Trinian returned his gaze with a skeptical look, uneasy in ways she couldn’t quite articulate. “And is this a True story?”

His smile broadened impishly. “Can’t you tell, Your Majesty?”

Her astonishment was plain. She couldn’t.  _ “How is this possible? He’s not lying. But he isn’t being truthful either.” _ She collected herself and sighed. “No, Captain, I can’t. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me how you’re doing that.” 

He chuckled. “It’s a gift. But I’ll keep that particular trick to myself, at least for now. Trade secret, and all. Suffice it to say, your people and I approach the Truth from very different directions. Now, tell me. How may this humble bard be of service to the Unseelie Court?”

The time for games had passed. Like it or not, and she certainly did not, they needed help. “I need to know the Truth of a story, an old one, one my people have no records of.” The secrets of a past even the Courts were blind to, layers of Truth and Lie woven too tight to unbind. But if there was a bard who could help solve this riddle, she was sure it was this one. 


End file.
